


Half an Hour to Sunrise

by Lefaym



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Enemy Lovers, Ficlet, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2083659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time, Erik leaves at sunrise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half an Hour to Sunrise

Charles has lost count of the mornings they’ve spent like this. It’s been more than a year since he stopped telling himself that he could put an end to it, since he stopped trying to turn Erik away on the nights when he arrives without warning. If Erik ever tried to enter the school by any way other than Charles’ window, alarms would sound and he would be stopped within seconds, but Erik never does try; he only ever comes for Charles.

Sometimes they fight, sometimes they talk over long games of chess, and sometimes they simply sit because there’s nothing more to say. At a certain point they always fall into bed together, because although they are older now, and Charles can barely feel anything below his waist, and Erik flinches every time he sees the scar on Charles’ back -- in spite of all of that, they are no better at holding back from each other than they were as young men. Afterwards, as the clock ticks over into the small hours of the morning, they grow still and quiet, and they lie close together until the dawn, when Erik leaves without a word.

This morning is not so different to any of the others. There is nothing to mark it out as special; the school has not been in peril recently, and Erik’s Brotherhood has been blessedly quiet these last few months. There is no holiday approaching or just passed, and no great event threatening to alter the course of history. There is only Charles pressed against Erik’s back, his breath warm on Erik’s skin; Charles’ arm slung low around Erik’s middle, and Erik’s fingers twined with Charles’ own.

And there is the blue-grey morning twilight, creeping forward. 

Half an hour now. Half an hour until the sun rises, and Erik leaves. In the still half-light, every moment seems to stretch for an age, but when the sun appears above the horizon, time will snap back into its normal course, and these final minutes together will feel like mere seconds. Were this an effect of his power, Charles might be able to draw it out further; he might be able to give them days -- weeks -- months -- before this has to end, but Charles has no such ability. It’s just an all-too-human trick of the mind that evolved eons ago, to keep lovers close in the night.

Perhaps it’s because he feels so very human on this unremarkable morning that Charles is able to do it; because he is so painfully aware that even his own mind is not immune to the simple illusions that evolution uses to hold their species together.

“Stay,” he whispers into Erik’s back. “Please stay.” 

Erik is too deeply asleep to form any conscious memory of the words, but Charles feels something flicker in the unconscious part of Erik’s mind, and he knows, with a certainty that settles in his bones, that something has shifted between them, that their mornings will not end so easily now when the sun tips over the horizon.

Charles tightens his arm around Erik’s torso and allows his eyes to fall shut. He matches his breath to the rise and fall of Erik’s chest, and although he has no intention of it, a shallow slumber takes him at some indefinable point between one long moment and the next. 

It’s Erik’s movements that pull him out of it; Erik disentangling himself from Charles’ arms, rising from Charles’ bed, dressing himself in the ridiculous costume that marks him as an adversary. Through the open curtains, Charles can see the school grounds clearly; there are only a few minutes left now, before the sun appears. 

Erik doesn’t look at Charles as he summons his helmet from the table beside the bed, and Charles thinks that he must have been wrong, that he must have been dreaming, earlier, when he felt something change. A fancy, nothing more. A foolish hope.

The first rays of the morning illuminate the room, and Erik, no more than a silhouette against the brightness, lifts the helmet to his head as the window seems to open of its own accord. Charles closes his eyes as the cool morning breeze hits his skin, and waits for the gentle whoosh of air that will announce Erik’s departure.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, Charles hears a dull thud, and he opens his eyes to see Erik’s helmet rolling across the floor.

Erik turns, and both of them seem frozen for a moment, until Erik takes a step forward. He moves slowly and cautiously, and Charles can feel his apprehension as he crosses the room. There are other things too -- desire, and hope, and love, and frustration, and by the time Erik kneels by the bedside, Charles doesn’t know which sensations are his and which are Erik’s. Charles extends a hand to Erik’s cheek, and Erik draws a trembling breath. Charles pulls him in, and their lips meet in the warm glow of the morning.

Charles is hardly naive; he knows this won’t fix everything between them. But when Erik finally does leave, the sun is well above the horizon.


End file.
